


Under the Lights

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: TSoT Fix-It [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, First Time, Gay Club, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, The Stag Night (Sherlock: The Sign of Three), that gay club deleted scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17883161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: Following Sherlock’s map marked with all the streets where they had found a corpse, John and Sherlock stumbled into a gay club.Inspired by an interview where the actors mentioned there was a gay club scene that had been deleted.





	Under the Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Bajo las luces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105651) by [randomfandoms7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfandoms7/pseuds/randomfandoms7)



> Written for February's Sherlock Challenge "Dream" (Tumblr)

 

John squinted his eyes as he looked around the club he and Sherlock had just entered. The overhead strobe lights were blinding but his eyes quickly adjusted to the new reality. He was reaching for his wallet just as he saw that Sherlock had already paid their entrance fees. Following Sherlock’s map marked with all the streets where they had found a corpse, they had managed to have a pint in four pubs already. There was a pleasant buzz in John’s head and he was ready to have a little bit more fun this evening.

They found their way to the bar through throngs of people, all of whom were moving to blaring music that John didn’t recognise. Just listening to the noise of it made him feel old. The buff barman, who wore purple glittery boyshorts with knee-high boots to match and nothing else, finally approached them to take their order.

“What can I get you boys?”

John looked at Sherlock lifting his eyebrows in surprise but his friend just shrugged in indifference. It was quite the feeling to be called ‘boys’ at their age; the ego boost made him lift his chin high.

“The strongest drink you have.”

“Umbrellas?”

“Yes!” John slammed his palm on the table with two tens, feeling emboldened. The nice barman smiled and turned to make their drinks.

“He called us ‘boys’! Did you hear that?” John turned to Sherlock who was looking a tad befuddled as he scanned the dancefloor. John did the same, starting with the people standing the closest to them. All were men in various stages of undress, a few were wearing regular clothing but the majority were dressed either very colourfully, very scantily, or both. An array of naked and sweaty torsos suddenly made John realise that this was not the club they had initially intended to venture into.

“Come on, John...” Sherlock shouted directly into his ear making him jump before he took John’s hand to pull him away from the bar.

“You know I can’t dance.” John protested rather weakly.

“You’re intoxicated, John. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just...” Sherlock took his other hand and John felt his feet moving. Sherlock’s hands were warm in his, which was unusual. Sherlock’s body, or rather his hands, were usually cold to the touch. But this night, he was hot...in more ways than one. John felt the alcohol coursing through his system, clouding his mind, but he welcomed the buzz; he needed to let go a little before he would bind himself to a woman for the rest of his life. This night was his time to do that, to follow Sherlock one last time as a bachelor.

Sherlock closed his eyes and moved his hips, pulling John further onto the dance floor. When he opened his eyes, he looked at John from under hooded eyelids. He was drunk but there was a lot more than that hiding behind Sherlock’s piercing gaze. The purple and pink lights moved rapidly on Sherlock’s face, and with each blink the detective’s smile became wider, more wicked.

John let himself be pulled along and appraised Sherlock’s long neck, exceptionally exposed as his head was slightly tilted back; three buttons from the top were left open, giving John a glimpse of the detective’s pale chest. His gaze travelled lower, button by straining button, down to where the shirt disappeared into Sherlock’s trousers, then let his gaze drift a little lower.

John felt the air rush out of his lungs, his eyes unable to look anywhere but at Sherlock’s hips which were sensuously moving in time to the music. The deafening beat was reminding John of something teenagers probably jumped to, but Sherlock could move with the beat gracefully, as if he was seducing him with the movement of his hips.

John was hypnotised and followed Sherlock further, all the way into the middle of the dancefloor where they were swallowed by a crowd of people. The others weren’t really dancing but gyrating their hips, their hands travelling over each other's half-naked bodies.

John licked his lower lip and let go of Sherlock’s hands, taking a step closer to the impossibly sexy man dancing in front of him. Sherlock lifted his hands above his head continuing to dance but kept his stare trained on John.

For several beats, John stood mesmerised by the fluidity and the absolute perfection of his friend’s movements. With his arms above his head, Sherlock’s shirt was even tighter, the buttons begging to pop. John felt his heart beating faster as he watched his friend’s tall figure, perfect hair, impeccable clothes and the way he moved his strong yet graceful body. He was not the only one looking either; men of various ages unashamedly stared at Sherlock, which made John’s hands wind into fists. Quickly, he made himself flatten his palms against his sides. When he looked back at his detective, Sherlock’s gaze was only on him, not caring about the throngs of other admirers.

John had always been aware that Sherlock was a handsome man, but only at this moment, after he had decided that he wanted to let go and party, let go and do what his body wanted, did he realise how gorgeous he found his friend. Until now, he had kept his emotions hidden under layers of propriety, but John had finally opened his eyes and let himself feel the attraction he had harboured for Sherlock for so long.

He knew he was drunk now but that had never been enough for him to become reckless; his reaction now was something more than that. Closing his eyes, John took a deep breath and asked himself what did he really want to do on his last night out as a bachelor. When he opened his eyes not more than two heartbeats later, he knew the answer.

His body was on fire. Blood was leaving his brain and going to his groin the longer he looked at the mouth-watering sight before him.

John put his palms on Sherlock’s pecs and slowly, following the rhythm of the beat, slid them down to Sherlock’s waist. He realised his body was moving along with his dance partner’s and for once he didn’t care if he looked silly. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Sherlock’s trousers and pulled his friend closer. The neck he had been previously admiring was in his field of vision and he licked a drop of sweat sliding along it. He wanted to be that drop, he wanted to slide from Sherlock’s neck to his collarbone, pec and nipple. He would linger there before travelling lower, along the veil of muscle on Sherlock’s abdomen and to...

He realised he’d been licking his dance partner’s neck and his lips stopped only because he got to the place where buttons, those pesky little buttons, stopped him from continuing. He had to let go of Sherlock’s waist to unbutton one more annoying disc so his mouth could taste.

Sherlock minimised his movements allowing John to place more languid kisses as the detective arched toward his touch, just as needy as he was. Sherlock was letting him explore his body and John couldn’t believe they had never done this before. The excitement of being in such a public place added to the impossibility of the moment. John found himself unable to stop, he had to taste more, more of the soft yet marble-looking skin bathed in all the colours of the rainbow from overhead lights.

He looked up to see the expression on Sherlock’s face. Impossibly, it had become more erotic, more lascivious... Sherlock wanted him to continue, that much was clear. They both wanted this, oh God, how he wanted this. He needed this more than the air he breathed. He pulled at the next button and it popped, flying on the dance floor never to be seen again. Good riddance, John thought and did the same with the next one. Sherlock’s shirt was half-open now and John could see Sherlock’s right nipple. He swallowed and leaned in to taste it, flicking his tongue before taking the hardening bud between his lips and sucking. Sherlock bucked and John felt a hand on his nape, gripping his hair tightly, but not pulling him away. On the contrary, the hold Sherlock had on him suggested that he shouldn’t hold anything back.

It might have been the alcohol but John felt more drunk on the feel of Sherlock in his mouth than he had ever felt during a night out drinking. He sucked harder, grazing the nipple with his teeth, almost biting it as Sherlock never ceased moving to the music. The song changed but it didn’t matter, John moved to the other nipple, noticing that the one he had been teasing was darker and hard.

He suspected that Sherlock would be hard in other places also, and he slid his left hand downward to make sure. His deduction had been exceptional and he smiled at the feel of Sherlock’s considerable length trying to escape the fabric cage it was trapped behind. John could tell Sherlock was panting, from the slightly parted lips and his chest lifting and falling in the same fast rhythm of the beat surrounding them. John sucked the other nipple, maintaining the pressure with his left hand, then moving it to Sherlock’s fly. That was when Sherlock grabbed his wrist. John looked up to see Sherlock’s head shaking in the universal signal for “no” which defied the look of pure lust on his face.

John realised that they were in the middle of the dance floor, and as much as people were dry-humping each other, he had been stopped right before he showed the public more than even the much younger guys were showing.

He licked his lower lip and pulled the hand that was still wrapped around his wrist. Sherlock’s grip loosened and took his palm, interlacing their fingers together. John felt a rush of heat at the sight of their hands linked in such a familiar gesture.

Tonight, he was greedy and he wanted even more. He didn’t know what yet, but he knew he wanted Sherlock and he wanted as much of him as the detective was willing to give.

The nearest corridor was painted with a variety of colours creating dizzying patterns and John pushed the taller man’s back against the wall there. The dim lighting emboldened John to pursue his need as he gripped both sides of Sherlock’s shirt and ripped it open, not caring about the buttons and the expensive price tag of the shirt. His dance partner clearly didn’t mind either as he lifted his hands again, letting John explore his chest with licks, sucks, and nips, lower and lower until he was kneeling. He looked up and reached for Sherlock’s belt. Sherlock took both his wrists this time and pulled him up. They stumbled through the adjacent bathroom doors. The atmosphere there was similar, albeit the music was a little less deafening. The walls were riddled with a similar swirly pattern and the dim light told John that they weren’t the only ones who entertained similar ideas involving this bathroom. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a moan loud enough to break through the music.

John saw the smirk on Sherlock’s face as they closed themselves in a stall. John’s hands immediately went to Sherlock’s fly and the detective’s hands did the same with his. As fast as he could, John slid his hand inside Sherlock’s trousers and hoped that the noise he had made was not as loud as it was in his head because, oh god...Sherlock wasn’t wearing any pants.

John’s hand wrapped around the cock he so desperately wanted to taste now that he had finally touched it. He felt Sherlock’s hands opening the buttons of his jeans, sliding them down to his mid-thigh along with his pants. John’s erection sprang free and Sherlock looked down at it, his lips widening into a kind of smile John has never seen on his face before; wolfish was as close as he could get to describing it. The long fingers of Sherlock’s right hand wrapped around John’s cock and pulled him closer. Before John realised what was happening, he felt Sherlock’s lips on his. The lips he had caught himself staring at during random times of day and thinking about at random times of night were on his. John opened into the soft kiss to deepen it, sliding his tongue over Sherlock’s bottom lip then into his detective’s mouth. He explored with his tongue, the tingling in his abdomen informing him that he was enjoying this moment a lot more than he had ever anticipated. Sherlock’s kissing became more aggressive, needy, and John met him stroke for stroke, just as his hand started moving on Sherlock's cock and vice versa. They both groaned into the kiss. The sound was lost in the music, but he could feel the rumble of it in Sherlock’s chest, which was flush to his own.

Their hands moved faster on each other’s cocks and they had to break the kiss to pant, desperate to get some air into their lungs. John understood now what the detective had meant when he said once that breathing was indeed boring. He wanted to breathe Sherlock and only Sherlock. At this moment, however, he breathed in fervour and breathed out desire.

The tugging movements of their hands hadn’t stopped when their gazes met. They panted, looking at each other for a moment longer before Sherlock released John’s cock and pulled him so that their backs were to the same wall of the thankfully large enough stall. Sherlock looked at him over his arm with gaze full of fire, lust and need. Then he lifted his hand to lick the inside of his palm in a slow move before he reached for John’s cock again.

That look he gave John... “Fuck...” he said into the loud music and thrust his hips into Sherlock’s hand. He followed Sherlock’s idea but instead of licking his own palm, he presented it to Sherlock. The detective smirked and flattened his tongue into John’s palm, his free hand wrapping around John’s wrist. He licked the palm then swirled his tongue around John’s fingers, sucking his index finger into his mouth.

The sultry look made John’s knees weak and the suction of his finger made John buck into Sherlock’s other palm, imagining those perfect lips wrapped around his cock, this smart mouth sucking his length until he spilled inside or better yet, on Sherlock’s gorgeous chest. He felt his orgasm building and tugged his hand free so he could grip Sherlock’s cock and reciprocate the sweet slide as he closed his fist tightly over the needy organ.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so aroused, quite possibly he never had been. Because he had never been given such an intense wank by a man, and right now he was being given one by the most beautiful man he had ever seen. They matched the rhythm on their cocks and as if choreographed, letting their heads fall back to hit the wall.

John looked down to see the movement of their hands in unison, to see a large, male hand, Sherlock’s hand on his cock, giving him pleasure. He looked at his detective’s face then and discovered Sherlock was watching him, looking at his face with a breath-taking expression of near-ecstasy and adoration.

Me too, John thought. Oh god, Sherlock, me too...

John focused on Sherlock’s parted lips, on the feel of his friend’s hand on his cock. He imagined they could do more, push this night further. He let his mind imagine both of them naked and exploring their bodies...

John thrust into Sherlock’s hand harder as he felt his orgasm building. He barked out a string of curses when he came, still looking at Sherlock’s face, as he released his seed on the floor of the bathroom in spurts of white.

Sherlock joined him a moment later, tightening the grip on John’s spent cock and holding it still as his own hips undulated, his abdominal muscles tightened when he was coming, his come joining John’s on the tiled floor. John looked down and noticed that some of his semen landed on Sherlock’s palm.

If he hadn’t just experienced the most intense orgasm he could remember, he would get hard again watching as Sherlock brought the hand that had been holding John’s cock just a moment before to his lips. His tongue flicked to lick every drop of come, the expression on his face triumphant, devilish, and absolutely gorgeous.

John felt as if he was in a dream. A dream where suddenly everything made sense after his subconscious mind made all his feelings click together. John craved Sherlock more than he had ever realised possible. He had just been treated to a glimpse of what they could be together.

John wanted more. Soon. Tomorrow, the next day, every day. Every month he had left on this planet.

 

And then he remembered...

 

This was just a dream.

 

Because he was about to get married...


End file.
